Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning
by FinalThorn
Summary: What would have happened if (Female, Mage) Hawke had been born as a noble living in Kirkwall? This details her life from discovering her magical talent to the start of Awakening. Only follows the bare bones of the games' story.
1. Chapter 1: The Unhappy Guest

**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**I will make NO money from this fanfiction.**

**Freedom among slaves: A Mages Beginning.**

**Chapter One; The Unhappy Guest.**

* * *

Marian de Launcet let her uncomfortable new shoes drag in the filth that lines Kirkwall's streets. She let the stupid dress trail in the dirt too. She hated functions. She hated having to pretend to like the other nobles. She _loathed_ being shown off, paraded around like some sort of doll, ready to be married off when she came of age.

Her twin, Garrett, carefully picked his way through the detritus. Marian felt a stab of jealousy; Garrett could wear a shirt and trousers rather than a constricting dress. He didn't have to wear his hair pinned up in a ridiculous looking pile on the top of his head. Marian forced the feeling down. It was Garrett, after all who had always prevented other girls from picking out Marian's "flaws" in the middle of one of the very functions the de Launcets were headed to.

Admittedly, he accomplished this by asking them, with that ever charming smile of his, to dance.

If a group of Marian's tormenters cornered her, Garrett would enlist his friend, Sebastian Vael, to ask Marian to dance instead. For some reason, even though she made no secret of her dislike of him and her sheer hopelessness with regards dancing, the young Vael never refused Garrett's request. This both puzzled and worried Marian.

The younger de Launcet twins, Bethany and Carver gambolled on ahead, chattering excitedly about something or other. Guillaume and Leandra de Launcet walked arm in arm, some distance behind.

As the family rounded the corner they met the Harimanns. Flora Harimann, the only girl, gravitated towards Garrett, who offered her his arm with a sarcasm that could be mistaken for politeness. Flora accepted the proffered hand, but not before shooting an icy glare at Marian.

Marian ignored her, rubbing one of her tired eyes with a yawn. The nightmares had gotten worse lately. In her dreams she saw Kirkwall on fire, death, things that gave her goosebumps even during daylight hours. She shivered involuntarily at the memories.

"Feeling chilly, Marian?" a heavy jacket was draped across her shoulders.

Marian twitched, startled and turned her head to see Sebastian falling into step beside her. A few paces behind their mothers walked, speaking animatedly. The wind caught a few snatches of their conversation and delivered them to the two teenagers. The apparent topic of discussion worried Marian. To her horror Sebastian seemed to brighten.

" …Marian would look so beautiful in an Orlesian empire-line wedding gown," Lady Vael mused, "…perhaps with a flower or two braided into her hair?"

Marian shoved Sebastian's jacket back into his hands and hurried to walk beside Bethany. A glance over her shoulder told her that a dejected looking Sebastian was speaking to Garrett. She wished she could hear what was being said and to her surprise the words drifted to her as clearly as they would be had she been standing beside them.

"….don't worry, she'll come around. After all she _could_ do a lot worse."

Garrett dodged an elbow from Sebastian, laughing as his friend cursed. Marian suddenly felt fatigued as if she'd been pacing her room from hours on end. Beside her Bethany showed no reaction to the exchange, seeming not to have heard a word Garrett had spoken.

"Something wrong, sister?" Marian met Bethany's concerned gaze.

"No. Nothing at all," Marian lied.

* * *

Marian stood awkwardly to one side, away from the crowd of dancers, hoping not to be noticed. Not to be noticed by _him_. Marian does not want _his_ attention, and never has. She refuses to let her parents arrange _that_ match, even if she would be close to royalty were it to go ahead. Marian is independent. Always has been, always will be.

Marian chuckled when Garrett meandered by, Bethany balanced on his shoes, Carver trailing behind them uncertainly. Carver spotted Marian and grinned, crossing the floor to her. He held out a hand, sporting the mournful, pleading face that younger siblings have. Marian sighed, but took his hand and let him pull her to the dance floor anyway. They danced awkwardly for about a minute before someone behind Marian coughed.

"Uh…Carver can I cut in?"

Sebastian Vael rubbed one foot against the back of his shin nervously. Marian turned to where Carver had stood moments before. He wasn't there. She scanned the crowd, searching for any trace of him.

Finally, she found him, standing some ways off, wearing a smile that read "No need to thank me!" quite clearly. Garrett, arms crossed, leaning against a pillar next to Carver, waved somewhat sheepishly at Marian. Bethany was beside her brothers, smiling shyly at her sister.

_The sneaky…_Marian's thoughts were interrupted by Sebastian tapping her shoulder. He smiled warmly at her and politely offered her his hand. Marian noticed to her embarrassment that the crowd had given up any pretence of dancing and had spread out in a circle, watching them closely.

Marian couldn't refuse without further embarrassment, so she forced her outrage at the situation to the side. She hated every second, every step she had to dance with him. Marian kept herself as far away from him as was humanely possible, but then he shyly and anxiously started to ask her for permission to start courting her.

Marian felt nauseated, and could sense a headache coming on. "I feel faint…" she wavered, one hand rose to cradle her head as the ground pitched beneath her.

Sebastian moved to steady her, to tell her that he's sorry if he seemed too forward, that he's admired her for years. He looked at her hopefully, but all Marian wanted as for him to leave her alone and just go away, bother some other girl for once.

Marian stepped back, illness forgotten. Then Sebastian did something utterly unforgiveable and very stupid of him: he tried to kiss her.

As he leaned forward Marian hit him, hard, across his jaw. She only meant to hit him, but some _power_, some _feeling_, some_thing_ forced its way from her centre to her shoulder, down her arm, past her elbow and wrist and out through her hand. Sebastian blinked, wobbling on his feet as if drunk, before falling; sound asleep, to rest on the floor, snoring gently.

Then all hell broke loose. Terrified guests ran this way and that, searching for the elusive exit. The few Templars and guardsmen present attempted to calm the crowd and to reach Marian.

_I…I used MAGIC…_Marian thought,_ I'm a m-mage?_

* * *

Garrett was the first to snap into action, he grabbed the collar of the nearest, most hot-headed youth and punched. Garrett dodged the counter-attack and deftly wove his way through the crowd, throwing insults and punches in every direction. When he reached Marian, a full scale brawl had broken out, further hindering the Templars and guardsmen.

Garrett crouched over Sebastian and hit him lightly across his face to wake him up.

"Wha-"Sebastian abruptly woke and tried to rise to his feet, head-butting Garrett in the process.

"Ow! Hey, that hurt!"Sebastian complained.

"Nevermind that! We need to get my sister out of the Templar _infested_ city _before_ the Templars drag her to the Gallows!"Garrett snapped, hauling Sebastian to his feet. "Are you ok, sis? You look like you're in shock." Garrett switched rapidly from irritation to brotherly concern.

Marian nodded, dazed.

* * *

Sneaking out of the building had been tricky, to say the least and had involved "borrowing" a set of boys clothes from an unconscious youth and cutting Marian's hair with a dagger.

Now the three stood on the roof of a tall building near Kirkwall's outer wall. Sebastian stood by a chimneystack, face impassive, tying one end of a rope to an arrows shaft. The other end of the rope was looped around the chimneystack and tied with the tightest knots any of the teenagers knew.

Below, Marian could see people milling about. Her parents would be down there, looking for her or being questioned by the Templars, no doubt. The guardsmen would have closed the city gates by now. Couldn't let the apostate escape now, could they?

"No matter what happens, you're still my sister," Garrett sounded close to tears, "When you get out of Kirkwall, you have to keep moving. Don't stop. Head to Tevinter. Get yourself apprenticed to a Magister. Don't forget; we're all rooting for you, sis"

"I will. You know what to tell everyone?"

"I do."

Marian nodded, double checking the dagger belted to her waist. The two stood awkwardly for a moment before Sebastian walked up to them.

"It's ready. The zip-line will take you through some forest. The arrow's lodged in my family's carriage, though you should probably let go before then; you'd break something at that speed."

Marian hugged her brother. He buried his face in her hair.

"When you get to Tevinter, write to me ok?"

"Yeah," Marian broke away and headed for the makeshift zip-line, readying the sash she'd taken from her dress.

Sebastian halted her with a hand resting lightly on her forearm.

"If you're ever in the area come…come and find me."

Before Marian could reply, Sebastian had stepped back and was smiling wryly with a solemn sadness in his pale blue eyes.

Marian hooked the sash over the taut rope and looped it around her hands several times. Before she could reconsider their reckless escape plan she pushed herself off the roof. She soon found that Sebastian had been correct about the speed, she was soon travelling fast enough to feel as if she were flying. She was soon hidden from sight of the city by a line of trees.

Then her luck ran out.

To her horror, the sash began to fray, then tore completely, sending her plummeting to the ground below. She hit a branch and kept falling, snagging on more and more branches. For what seemed to be an age, Marian felt only pain. Then, at last, she hit the ground. It dealt her a blow that knocked the wind clean out of her lungs.

Marian turned her head to the side and saw two hunters running toward her in alarm. As one of them neared, sinking into a crouch and waving one hand in front of her eyes, yelling back to their partner that she was alive, they needed to get her to the Keeper, Marian noticed with a detached interest that they had pointed ears. Elves. Dalish elves. Then everything went black and Marian knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2: Aneth ara lethallan!

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter two: Aneth ara, lethallan!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

* * *

Sound, like wind striking canvas assaulted Marian's ears. Expecting to be at home, in bed, in her family's Hightown estate, Marian opened her eyes. She wasn't at home. Nor anywhere she recognised, for that matter.

The roof of the tent-like structure Marian was inside was made of a thick, reddish-brown cloth. The lower part of the structure was made of wood. It seemed to be raised slightly above the ground. Here and there Marian saw signs of life; a neat stack of roughly bound, dog-eared books stood in one corner, a bowl of water, a pitcher and a cloth rested on a makeshift table, beside which a closed trunk sat, various plants grew in clay pots here and there, all positioned to catch the sunlight through gaps in the overhead material. A bundle of clothes had been folded carefully and placed by Marian's feet. Marian noticed she was lying on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed.

With trepidation Marian lifted the blankets, remembering her fall. Her torso and sections of her arms and legs had been bandaged; the clothes she had been wearing were gone.

_Probably too torn to wear anyway,_ Marian thought, reaching for the clothes at the foot of the bed. They were strange and unfamiliar, yet comforting and completely natural. Loose brown breeches, a sleeveless green tunic, bell sleeves that covered her arms from midway down her upper-arm and billowed out around her hands, connected to a set of feathered pauldrons which joined together at the back to form a seamless whole and dark green boots that laced up to her knees.

Marian gently ran a hand across one of the sleeves, feeling the faint song, the hum of the lyrium fuelled enchantments woven into the very thread of the cloth. A costly gift indeed.

The thought of her mysterious benefactor filled Marian's mind with curiosity. Looking about she noticed a ramp heading up to a flap of cloth. _That must be the exit._

* * *

Merril sat outside her aravel, quivering with excitement. She'd read in books that humans who lived together called themselves room-mates. She guessed that made the human girl her aravel-mate. Merril fiddled with the girls staff. Well- the girl didn't know it was her staff yet. The girl didn't know Merril yet.

Merril was sure they would be friends- or at least, that the human wouldn't try to eat her or anything.

Still, with Mahariel and Tamlen out hunting or mooning over each other all of the time and with her own training as the Keeper's First eating up much of Merril's own free time, Merril would be glad of the company. She was the only mage her age in the Sabrae clan. She had been given to the clan during the Arlathvhen. She had been too young to remember much from before. She didn't mind. But since then she'd been alone. One of two mages in the Sabrae clan, the other being the Keeper.

Now she could have a friend who understood. Understood what it was like to have magic. Merril looked up as the human girl emerged from the aravel, wearing the robes Merril had lain out for her.

"Aneth ara lethallan!" Merril greeted the girl cheerfully, using the friendly honorific without thinking in her giddy state.

Embarrassed by the girl's blank stare, Merril explained her greeting in the common tongue. Merril gave the girl her staff and pulled at her sleeve, leading her to the Keeper, all the while keeping up a steady stream of chatter.

* * *

Marian smiled and let the young elven girl tug her along. The girl pointed out things in the camp, statues of elven gods, the halla pens, other elves. The girl mixed common with the elven tongue seamlessly, occasionally pausing in her monologue to explain a word or a phrase.

The girl cheerfully greeted all of the other elves they came across, and from their replys Marian gathered that the girls name was Merril.

At last the unlikely duo reached an elderly female elf that was standing by a fire. She introduced herself to Marian as Keeper Marethari and explained how the two hunters- Mahariel and Tamlen- had found her. Marian noticed the aforementioned hunters sitting close by the fire. The girl- Mahariel- smiled tentatively at her and the boy- Tamlen- glared at her with open hostility.

_Does he hate all humans or just me? _Marian wondered.

Marian's thoughts were interrupted by the Keeper asking her how she came to be falling from the sky.

Marian explained that she'd discovered she was a mage, and recounted the escape attempt. The Keeper took it all in, nodding when Marian finished. The Keeper mulled over Marian's tale, but the silence was interrupted by a loud chortle.

"See? I told you shems are stupid! Ahahahahahaha!" Tamlen laughed, tears pouring down his face.

"Tamlen!" Merril shrieked at him, outraged that the girl she now viewed as being her new best friend was getting laughed at.

Marethari sighed, smoothing the lines on her forehead with one hand, shaking her head. Merril ranted at Tamlen for the guts of five minutes, but this only made his fit of laughter worse. Tamlen finally ceased his laughing when he caught the death glare being levelled at him by Mahariel. He mumbled an apology and turned a bright, splotchy red.

Relieved that the teenagers had regained some of their dignity Marethari spoke.

"Merril and I knew that you were gifted with magic, indeed, even before you told us. You are very lucky. Had you been born without it, you would, like as not, have died of your injuries. Your mana responded to the healing touch of ours' and helped us to heal the worst of your injuries. It was stronger than it should have been, given your near death state. Do not fear, we shall take you with us when we leave here. I have…an acquaintance in Ferelden who would be interested in meeting you child, and I, too am curious as to your abilities."

"We wouldn't abandon a fellow mage to the Templars!" Merril interjected.

"Indeed, da'len. The humans who trade with us may recognise your name if not you face, however…"

"She could take a new name, and we could put her hair like…" Mahariel stood and fiddled with Marian's hair, "…So, and we could…" Mahariel dug around in her pack, coming up with a pot of red war-paint, she liberally smeared it across Marian's nose. "There! She looks just like a particularly robust elf now! Doesn't she?"

The others nodded. It was true, with Marian's hair arranged to cover the tips of her ears, and with the elven clothes, she looked just like an elf. The war-paint on her nose altered her appearance enough so you couldn't see who she was, if you weren't too close to her.

"Now she just needs a name…"

"How about Hawke?" Tamlen suggested, "She did look like she fell from the sky and well…those are bird feathers she's wearing."

"Kinda suits her," Mahariel agreed.

Merril nodded eagerly, dancing a little jig to herself. Marethari chuckled.

"Hawke…I like it," Hawke, once Marian, agreed.

* * *

After a day spent with Merril, Mahariel, Tamlen and other members of the clan, Hawke was glad when Merril led her back to their shared aravel and yelled "I call top bunk!" before promptly climbing up and curling under the blankets. Hawke was surprised that even Tamlen, who had seemed to wholeheartedly hate her when he first saw her, had been kind. Perhaps not being able to see her rounded ears made it easy for him to pretend that she wasn't a human- a shemlen, as he'd termed it- but an elf. Marian fell into a fitful sleep.

In her dreams she saw horror after horror. The last image was one of her innocent little sister Bethany and sweet, kind-hearted, eccentric Merril dead and broken, killed right in front of her by two hulking Templars.

She'd watched, unable to help, her mana torn from her, as they died.

Then she felt another presence- not another one of the demons who tortured her, something as opposite to them as could be. It drove the demons back and approached her, lying curled up on the ground in the Fade. It surveyed her for a moment, before gently picking her up and carrying her to another piece of the Fade.

"I am sorry I did not arrive sooner, Marian, but my nature compelled me to help elsewhere. I had intended to greet you when you entered the Fade, but sadly that was not possible."

"Who-who are you?"

The thing solidified in front of her, taking on the form of an armed warrior.

"Ah- again, my apologies. I am Justice."

"Your name is Justice?"

"It is but a virtue I aspire to; I have no name. I am a spirit of the Fade."

"I read that spirits don't bother with mortals."

Justice's eyes flashed behind the eye slits of his helmet.

"You do not deserve to be tormented by those demons, nor did you deserve to be chased from your home. Marian, most you have been taught about spirits and mages is a falsehood. I have watched over you since childhood, and I'm not about to stop now. Look within yourself now an tell me that is not true."

Hawke sat, accepting the truth in the spirits words. She had in fact been granted good dreams when she was upset, or when the nightmares of the previous night had been particularly bad, all through her life. She guessed that was Justice's doing.

"Marian?" she'd been silent for several minutes.

"It's- it's Hawke. Not Marian, Hawke."

Justice seemed to glow brighter, his version of a smile.

"You aspire to be free, like a hawk?"

Hawke nodded, it had been one of the reasons she'd accepted Tamlen's suggestion.

Justice laughed, a clean, pure sound. Like ringing bells.

"It is a good choice for you."

"What is so funny?"

"An expression of mirth, nothing more."

"…right," For some reason she doubted the spirit, "I amuse you?" she smiled slyly- let him figure out that!

"I…"

Hawke never got to hear Justice's reply; she could feel her body tugging at her mind. _Time to wake up! _

She sighed and surrendered to wakefulness.

* * *

Justice let himself laugh after Hawke left. _I am really quite enjoying observing her,_ the spirit mused _Marian is-Hawke is_ he corrected himself _Hawke is quite interesting for a mortal. So pure of heart…her father would be proud…_

The thought of her father left Justice in an uncontrollable fit of giggles- very unlike him.

_To think, she __**chanced **__upon that name…It cannot be a coincidence._

The spirit went back about his business. When would she realise he'd been gone because he was drained from the effort of healing her? That he hadn't intervened until then because he couldn't? That he'd saved her life?

He hoped she never did. He didn't want her to feel indebted to him. To feel like she owed him. She didn't. It had been his pleasure to help her.

Besides he'd promised her father…Her father! Again the obliviousness of mortals to the most obvious of truths set him laughing. Could they not see the resemblance?

Unbidden, Justice's thoughts turned to Hawke's face. He truly thought she was beautiful.

_Enough! _Justice wrenched his thoughts back under control. _She will age and die while you will not!_ He berated himself.

Feeling angry, Justice decided to go and hunt some demons. And if he met some spirits along the way who embodied any of her virtues, he'd recommend her form to them.


	3. Chapter 3: Life with the Dalish

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter three: Life with the Dalish

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA**

**Author's note:**** This chapter is pure fluff. The plot will speed back up again in the next chapter though.**

* * *

"Wake up! Wake up! The Keeper says you can join in my lessons and we're going to teach the younger elves about the fall of Arlathan and Tamlen and Mahariel are getting their Vallaslin and Haren Paival says he'll sing the bit from the Chant of Light about Shartan and it's going to be an amazing day! Come on, come on! Lethallan, wake up already! Hawke!"

Hawke opened her eyes to see Merril dancing around the aravel. Hawke got up and dressed swiftly, using the washbasin to clean her face. To Hawke's surprise the red paint did flake off her nose, but the skin beneath the thick paste was stained red. Hawke gasped at her reflection in the water.

Merril hurried over to see what was the matter.

"Oh! Mahariel does use such strong face paint. Still, at least you won't have to put any more on. It's a bit like a birthmark, isn't it?" Merril tilted her head, "From this angle it looks like a dragons head!"

"Well, it is rather apropos, in this age." Hawke smiled crookedly at Merril.

"Dragon Age, aha! Oh, you're so funny, Hawke!" Merril giggled, one hand loosely covering her grinning mouth, "Oh, at this rate we'll be late for the Keeper! We really need to go!"

Merril pushed her friend out of the aravel, pausing only so they could both grab their staves.

* * *

Learning how to grasp her magic and guide her mana through her will alone proved to be a challenging task and by the time Hawke and Merril joined the youngest elves for their history lesson Hawke was covered in sweat. When Hawke asked Merril about it she was told that it was quite normal for a mage after their first proper use of mana and Merril (quite cheerfully) informed her that if she overtaxed herself she would feel tired like this again.

Hawke's ears pricked up when Haren Paival recited the verses of the Chant of Light which mentioned Shartan, the elven leader who had marched with Andraste during her slave revolt. The verses had been removed from the Chant in the Glory Age, when the Divine ordered a Holy Exalted March against the Dales, the second elven homeland. The tale filled Hawke with a sense of loss.

Hawke looked down at her hands, letting the warmth of the fire and the quiet lilt of Haren Paival's voice lull her into a sense of comfort and security.

She looked up as Tamlen and Mahariel approached, followed by Keeper Marethari. The two hunters bore the Vallaslin- blood writing, Merril had told her- on their faces. They had received similar designs, but Mahariel's was slightly more detailed.

"They even chose the same patron god. Those two are head over heels, I swear." Merril whispered to Hawke.

Hawke nodded as the three additions sat down. The evening meal was soon served, skewers of meat and vegetables, perfectly seasoned and cooked. The food made Hawke's mouth water as she dug in. It was infinitely better than any of the rich, sickly sweet dishes she'd eaten in Hightown. This was _real _food, hearty and hale. It filled her with a pleasant warmth that refused to fade all through the evening, until she returned to the aravel she shared with Merril and fell sound asleep.

Her dreams that night were pleasant and filled her heart with even more warmth, if that were even possible.

* * *

Justice waited in the Fade. He sat cross-legged, hands rested on his knees, meditating.

Hawke had been older than most mages when she discovered her magical talent. She would need help to reach the skill level of other mages her age in any reasonable length of time. Justice remembered Hawke's father explaining to him how his spells worked. Justice's own experience of shaping the Fade since the day he came into existence- Fade spirits weren't born, they just _were_- would fill in the gaps in his knowledge of magical theory quite nicely.

His eyes- or rather, facsimiles of eyes, nothing really had a physical form in the Fade- snapped open. He'd recognise that slight disturbance anywhere.

Hawke…she had entered the Fade. He rose and hurried to meet her, hoping his eagerness would be mistaken for protectiveness

Hawke was surprised to see Justice waiting for her, and even more so when he explained that he would show her what he knew about magic- after all, it wasn't _just_ that Hawke knew less than others her age about magic.

Justice was a patient tutor, gently correcting Hawke's mistakes, repeating complex incantations multiple times without her having to ask.

When Hawke had learned all she could, Justice spread his arms and the region of the Fade they were in changed.

They now stood in an empty ballroom. Musician-less instruments lined the circular walls. The roof was clear, showing the constellations.

Hawke smiled, closing her eyes and recalling Justice's lesson. When she opened her eyes she was wearing a loose fitting, comfortable dress.

Justice smiled in approval. He bowed slightly and extended a hand.

"My lady?"

The instruments began playing themselves, violins, a flute, a harp.

La-la la-la-la la-la-la-la,

La-la la-la-laa la-la la-la laa,

La-la-la la-la-la…

They danced, and it didn't make Hawke nauseous. It felt like the robes Merril had given her- unfamiliar and strange, yet comforting and completely natural.

Hawke dance with her friend, and she was happy.

* * *

**Author's note: If anyone's wondering what the song is it's called "Waltz to the moon". It's from Final Fantasy 8 and it plays during a cutscene in which two characters are dancing. I just thought it would fit this part of the story.**


	4. Chapter 4: Approval

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter Four: Approval

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's Note: I always figured that since she knows Flemeth that Marethari would know shapeshifting, which is why it appears here.**

* * *

Under Justice's tutelage Hawke learned how to use spirit healing. During the day Keeper Marethari taught her how to shapeshift. Hawke was an able shapeshifter, but a mediocre spirit healer. Hawke also found she had a knack for the Entropy and Primal schools of magic. As Hawke's confidence grew, the Keeper had Hawke spar with Merril using their staves.

Soon the training had removed any traces of puppy fat from Hawke's frame and replaced it with a thin, wiry layer of muscle. Tamlen and Mahariel volunteered to teach both girls how to fight weaponless, to which Merril and Hawke agreed.

The news that they were to leave and head for Ferelden came during one of those training sessions.

Hawke circled Mahariel, waiting for her opponent to strike first. A fist came, blindingly fast. Hawke swiped an arm in a quarter circle, deflecting the blow, then dealt Mahariel a foot to the knee and a palm to the shoulder. Mahariel stepped back, before her leg came up and struck Hawke's side.

As the two traded more blows, Hawke saw Merril and Tamlen approaching through the corner of her eye.

Her brief split-second of distraction gave Mahariel a large enough opening to throw Hawke to the ground.

"Merril, Tamlen, you both owe me!" Hawke groaned, one of Mahariel's feet firmly planted on her collar.

"Sorry lethallan!" Merril squeaked.

"Hmph. You allowed yourself to be distracted." Tamlen's quiet voice asserted.

Mahariel stood back, helping Hawke up.

"Don't be too harsh on her, lethallin, she did hold her own for quite a while."

"Ma lath," Tamlen began, "you're too soft on shems."He embraced Mahariel.

"When will you learn to hate them properly?" he lightly scoffed, resting his cheek on her hair.

Merril, beside Hawke, mimed puking violently. Hawke giggled. Mahariel, over Tamlen's shoulder, stuck her tongue out at them.

Merril's mouth shaped a surprised O as she remembered something.

"Oh! Tamlen can I tell them? Can I? Can I? Can I?"

Tamlen sighed, "Yes, Merril, you can tell them."

His face contorted in alarm as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Just _not_ that particular piece of news!" Tamlen amended himself.

"Oh…Ok…" Merril wilted, "The clan is headed to Ferelden next. We're leaving tomorrow."

Tamlen whispered something into Mahariel's ear. She answered in the affirmative. Tamlen literally jumped for joy.

"She said yes!" he crowed.

"Tamlen asked the elders if they approved of their match," Merril explained, "Come on, let's make sure nothing in our aravel is going to fall over. We can celebrate tonight."

* * *

After the entire clan had thoroughly celebrated Tamlen and Mahariels' news Hawke fell, exhausted into a deep sleep. As always Justice greeted her in the Fade.

After several minutes of what felt to Hawke like an awkward silence she enquired about her lessons.

"You have learned all I can teach you," Justice stated.

Hawke shifted her weight from one foot to another. What did one discuss with a Fade spirit?

"Tell me about your day," Justice prompted.

Hawke recounted the events of the day. Justice held up a hand to stop her when she explained that the clan was moving to Ferelden.

"The Keeper as an acquaintance in Ferelden, you say," Hawke nodded. "Be very, very careful. This acquaintance does not seem, well…don't trust people you don't know. It sounds…suspicious at best."

"You suspect the Keeper of ulterior motives."

"…Yes."

Justice seemed to have trouble finding the words he wanted to say for a moment.

"Do not die, Hawke. I would have to avenge you. You are one of two mortals I have ever known and…I enjoy our conversations."

Hawke simply nodded, unsure of what to say.

* * *

**Author's note: I didn't expect to be able to post anything today, due to a history essay that's due tomorrow. I also didn't realize that this chapter was so short. I just end the chapters where it feels natural and this was where I felt this one should end. I will probably be able to post two tomorrow, if I start typing when I get home, to make up for the shortness of this one. After that I shall have to pace my additions, because I will get dangerously close to where I am in the handwritten version. I have the ending already planned out, so I will be finishing this. I also have a sequel or two planned, fingers crossed. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5: Alien

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter five: Alien

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's note: This chapter was supposed to happen much later in the story and in a different location but this is the way the words came out so… I actually prefer this to what I had originally planned! This chapter has some swearing and violence later on. Vaughn from the city elf origin also appears. I have not written any of the disgusting things he says in game. None of the elves get hurt in my version of events either.**

* * *

Hawke dubiously sniffed the potion.

"You're quite sure? No other way?"

"Yes, Magebane is the only foolproof way to hide you. Look, Merril and the Keeper have already had theirs'." Tamlen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hawke downed the foul concoction in one gulp, grimacing. She stumbled forward into Tamlen as the Magebane lessened her connection to the Fade. She could feel her mana, but it was dormant. Whereas it normally flowed in a familiar pattern, a current just under her skin, now it contracted into a small, dense orb in the centre of her chest, the rhythm of her heart masking its throb, its hum, its life.

Tamlen stood awkwardly, an expression of sheer helplessness on his face. He'd never had to babysit a magebaned mage before.

Hawke felt the nausea rise from her stomach and, before she could warn him, vomited down Tamlen's prized Dalish leather armor.

"Sorry," Hawke mumbled as Tamlen winced.

* * *

"So, this is Denerim?" Hawke inquired.

"Yes. I have some business in the Alienage here. You may accompany me if you wish," the Keeper spoke sombrely, "It may interest you. You have heard about Alienages, haven't you?"

"Yes. There is one in Kirkwall," Hawke continued, sensing the purpose behind the Keeper's question, "Elves are forced to live in closed off areas of the city, supposedly for their own protection. In actuality, it makes it easier for racial injustices to occur. In the centre of every Alienage is the Vhenadahl, the tree of the people, though the city elves have forgotten why they keep it, to them it is only a tradition. The elves are a tight knit community and marriages serve as a coming of age ceremony, much like the vallaslin. Marriages are arranged between Alienages, with the Alienage to lose a member of their community receiving a dowry as compensation."

"You were taught well," Marethari commented, "It is to one such marriage we are going. Lend me your arm, da'len, my old bones are weary and the potion takes its toll."

Struck with a wave of emotion at the Keepers use of the term of endearment, Hawke was momentarily stunned, until the wave crested and she moved to Marethari's side, allowing the elderly elf to lean on her.

They walked through the market district, ignoring the calls of street vendors.

"Fine Orlesian silks here!"

"Best craft from Orzammar!"

After weeks of living with the Dalish, the sheer number of people milling back and forth overwhelmed Hawke.

The archway leading to the Alienage was small, and contained a raised steel porticulis. A sigle guard stood to attention to the right of the Alienage gates.

Inside the Alienage was worse. Refuse steadily decomposed in the narrow alleyways. Buildings were roughly made and squished in tightly beside each other.

A dilapidated building held both the sign for an orphanage and an asylum, one hanging sloppily on its last nail where it had been affixed on top of the other. To Hawke's everlasting horror both signs fell as they passed, revealing that at one point, the building had been both an asylum and an orphanage at the same time.

Thankfully, another sign stated that the building had been long abandoned and warned against going inside.

"Go, speak with others your age da'len, I have business with the Haren of this Alienage," Marethari pointed Hawke towards a group of young elves and began conversing with an elderly elf.

Hawke nervously approached the group of elves.

"Are you here with the Dalish, shem?"

Hawke whirled, startled.

"Yes," Hawke swallowed anxiously.

A young elven maiden had a slim, needle-like dagger pressed against Hawke's abdomen. Hawke did not even dare to breathe. Just as her lungs began to scream for air, the elf removed the blade. With an impish smile that said, "Cause trouble here and you'll regret it," the girl left, the dagger seeming to Hawke to disappear.

"That was Kallian. She can be that way."

Hawke turned, wondering if she was going to spend the rest of the day being interrogated by sneaky vigilantes. Instead she saw a somewhat green elf.

"She's my cousin. I've known her all my life. She wouldn't ever actually kill anyone- or at least I hope not!" He laughed weakly.

"Are you all-right? …You look a bit…green."

The elf gulped and nodded.

"Just last minute nerves. Today's my wedding. A-and Kallian's. Probably why she was so on edge. W-we we're not marrying each other, it's a double wedding! Oh dear Maker I'm babbling. I feel sick." He promptly turned an even more worrisome shade of green.

"Do you want to sit down?" Hawke asked.

He nodded, not trusting himself not to vomit if he opened his mouth. A red haired elf hurried over.

"Cousin! Are you ok?" She sighed, "Pre-wedding jitters _again_?"

"Hello, shem. Why are you still here?" Kallian approached.

Hawke opened her mouth to reply but closed it again after she realised she was being ignored.

"Heads up, here come our betrothed," muttered the queasy elf.

"Soris! Get a grip!" The redhead flicked the side of Soris' head.

"Ow, Shianni! That hurt."

"Well, it got rid of those nerves, didn't it?" Shianni retorted.

The pairs' bickering was cut short by the arrival of two elves. The greetings were cut shortby the arrival of three men.

Three perverted, drunk, racist noblemen, that is.

"Get off me!" Shianni screamed as one, the evident leader, grabbed her.

He replied with an innuendo that made everyone present sick to their stomach.

Unable to stand it anymore, Hawke lashed out at one of the men as he approached her, catching him with a kick where it hurt. He doubled over, whimpering in pain.

"She said LET HER GO!" Hawke roared.

"You should learn some respect knife-ear," the man sneered, letting Shianni go.

He raised his fists in a sloppy fighting stance.

Hawke stood, her feet narrowly apart, hands raised, guarding her centre, completely relaxed.

As he neared, Hawke shot her arm out in a vertical punch, catching his nose. Hawke blocked the clumsy counter-attack, before pressing her advantage, driving him back.

Then a bottle crashed into the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. Shianni stood over him, a look of surprise on her face plastered on her face as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done.

"Do you know who he is? That's Vaughn Urien, the Arl of Denerim's son!"

"You've got a lot of nerve, knife-ears!"

His two cronies unceremoniously picked him up and carried him out of the Alienage.

* * *

It was during the wedding that Marethari and Hawke were asked to attend that Vaughn and his men returned. They wanted to kidnap the elven maidens, judging by the innuendo they dropped and the looks on their faces. They included Hawke in their definition of elf, evidently.

_Sick, perverted, twisted humans! _Hawke thought as two of them grabbed her arms.

Her mana responded to the nauseating mix of fear, horror and loathing and broke through the haze of the Magebane. She'd never felt more alive. Her mana pushed its way out of her and blasted her attackers back with an unnatural wind.

One of them hit a crate, splintering it and the other was impaled on one of the wooden spikes of the Alienage's inner wall. The wind blew her hair about her face, revealing her rounded ears.

"Oh, shit!"

"She ain't a knife-ear! We'll lose our 'eads for sure!"

"She's a bloody mage, you flaming idiot, the law is the least of our worries!"

Vaughn and his remaining guards drew their weapons.

"Kill the Abomination!"

"I'm not a…!" Hawke protested.

She turned to see the elves, including Marethari, and the revered mother had fled.

She was alone.

Alone and…afraid.

Crying, she stepped forward.

Crying, she fought.

Laughing in hysterics, she ran herself through on the sword in her gut, she used her mana to strengthen her arms, she used her hands to snap the man's neck, she used her only friend's strength to heal the damage, to stop the terrible bleeding.

Crying, she walked away from the massacre she had wrought.

Crying, she walked away from her old life never looking back.

She did not notice the white-blond woman following her, nor hear the commotion caused by an escaped circle mage a few streets away.

* * *

**Author's note: Ok, I won't get another chapter posted today, but I hope this plot development is interesting enough. Can anyone guess who the escaped circle mage is? I might put a poll on my profile, because I'm writing a chapter in which Hawke gets tempted by a demon and I'm not sure what to tempt her with. I am really sorry that I put Hawke through his, but I won't change it because she had to leave the Dalish eventually and I'm three chapters ahead of this and it'd be a pain to re-write all of that. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6: Runaway

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter 6: Runaway

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's note: Ok, so after the events of the last chapter, Hawke is obviously upset and somewhat remorseful. She'd never had to kill before so, naturally, I wrote her as feeling a bit guilty, even though it was self defence. This chapter contains **_**a**_** swear word, literally, just one word.**

* * *

"Your sister is in danger, child."

Hawke whirled. A white haired woman with yellow eyes stepped out from the alleyway Hawke had just vacated.

"How do you know?" Hawke was numb.

"I am Flemeth, Asha'bellanar…the dreaded Witch of the Wilds." The woman's eyes flashed.

Hawke, for some strange reason, didn't doubt the woman. There was something in those eyes, those yellow, malevolent, depraved yet wise and somehow kind eyes that lent itself nicely to the image of Flemeth that Hawke had subconsciously formulated from the stories she'd heard.

"How can I help her?" _How can I redeem myself and be rid of this blood on my hands?_

"Take this amulet and bring it to an acquaintance of mine." Just as Hawke was about to inquire just _who_ this acquaintance was Flemeth spoke again. "The amulet will tell you when the time is right, and where to find them. Do whatever they ask with the amulet, and your family's debt to me for saving your sister will be repaid."

"You will save her from the danger she's in?"

"Yes."

Hawke took the amulet without hesitation, _anything for Bethany._ As she was about to go, Flemeth stopped her.

"Know this elven-blooded child, when you sink into despair I give you hope, when you are alone, I grant you a friend, when you are defiant I gift you fortitude, and when you see Vengeance I make you Compassion." With that Flemeth turned into a cat and left.

"Wait, what do you mean by…elven-blooded…?" The unanswered question hung in the air.

Hawke put the amulet on, turned, and ran, hoping to put as much distance between her and the Templars as was possible before they started hunting her.

* * *

Anders ran. They'd found him, so he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He was lucky that the girl whose father had reported him to the Templars had developed a soft spot for him.

Granted, that soft spot _had_ been the reason her father had reported him. Still, he had a head start, so he ran.

Anders tripped and fell against a flower stall. Getting to his feet he handed a crushed flower to a random girl.

"Our love would be meant to be,

If it weren't for the Templars hunting me!"

He ran off before she could react.

On a whim, Anders decided to go to the docks, see if that pirate would smuggle him out of Ferelden on her ship. He couldn't remember her name.

Belle, Bella, Isobel, Isabella?

Isabella _that_ was the one. Now all he had to do was _find_ her.

Anders snapped out of his reverie when he realised he was lost. He turned about, trying to regain his bearings. As he peered down one of the narrow, deserted streets, something charged around the corner and into him, knocking him over and landing on top of him.

"Hey!" The thing protested, trying to disentangle itself from him.

When the stars faded from Anders' eyes he realised it was a teenage girl, about his age. She had some crazy red scar-birthmark-thing running across her nose, short, silky looking black hair and deep, heterochromatic eyes, one ocean blue, the other a forest green with a dark brown-grey ring on the inner and outer edge of the iris. In short she was stunning, her beauty only marred by the redness around her eyes that suggested she'd been crying and the dried blood crusted around her jaw, neck and hands.

"Let me go," she spoke quietly.

"Oh, sorry," he realised he'd been gripping her arms and hastily let go.

She got up and made to leave.

That's when the Templars caught up to him and he realised she was wearing mage robes.

"Shit!" The girl cursed quite colourfully. She cursed him, the Templars and some poor eejit called Vaughn.

Anders gingerly sat up, feeling the back of his head where it'd struck the cobblestone. Thankfully nothing was damaged, but it'd leave a nasty bruise.

The girl backed away from the Templars. Her foot struck a loose stone and she tripped, landing on Anders, yet again. He held up his left hand to catch her back before she thwacked her skull off the pavement.

"You're welcome," he muttered.

She ignored him, pushing herself off of her human seat and…transforming…into a cat.

_Well __**that's**__ a new one,_ Anders thought, genuinely surprised.

The Templars had seen it all before however and one of them stooped and grabbed her when she tried to escape. Anders stood. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to fight the Templars. There would be other chances, other escape attempts.

"You! Mage!" The Templar walked up to him, "You like cats don't ya?"

Anders nodded.

"Good. Keep an eye on her," the cat-girl was shoved into Anders' arms "and I'll get Greagoir to be lenient, this time."

"What about when she turns back?"

"Well, keep keeping an eye on her." Anders was sure the Templar rolled his eyes. Hard to tell with the bucket-helmet.

Anders let the Templars surround him and march him from Denerim and towards Kinloch Hold. He cradled the cat close to his chest. Absentmindedly he petted her. She was a grey tabby. He'd always wanted a tabby. Anders started to think of names for the "cat" when he saw her eyes glaring up at him and remembered she was really a mage.

He stopped petting before he lost any blood.

* * *

Hawke changed back as soon as the Templars set up camp and the mage put her down. A Templar informed her that she was being taken to Kinloch Hold, to Ferelden's Circle and that it was pointless to run.

As the Templars busied themselves building a fire, Hawke went to sit beside the other mage.

_Might as well get to know him, who knows, we might become friends. No one else to talk to anyway,_ she thought.

He looked up as she approached. His eyes were a light brown and his hair the colour of sunshine. His hair was short, part of it tied separate to the rest.

He moved over on the log he was sitting on. Hawke sat facing him.

"You _have_ to teach me that trick, sweetheart!"

"The shapeshifting?"

"Yes! You can tell me once we're in the Circle."

"Ok."

"How'd you get that?" He pointed at the red mark on her nose.

"War-paint. Never leave the stuff on overnight, it'll do a number on your face."

"Ha-ha! Oh, don't say that sweetheart, it works on you!"

"Stop that."

"What?"

"Calling me that…"

"Tell me your name then."

"Hawke."

"You quite sure?"

"Yes I'm Hawke." She grit her teeth.

"I am Anders, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"What's it like, in the Circle?"

"Pretty _and_ pragmatic; a striking combination."

"I'm sorry, what?" Hawke was utterly bewildered.

"_You._ You're both pretty and pragmatic. Most of the time it's one or the other."

"…Right…Back to my original question then…"

"Oh, it's…well," Anders looked nervously at the Templars, "Well, it's uh…you'll see for yourself, I suppose. _If_ they're lenient with me I'll tell you more once we get there, ok?"

That _scared_ Hawke. Would the Templars _kill_ someone for trying to be free? Could anyone be _that_ heartless?

* * *

**Author's note: I hope you all enjoyed that chapter, I tried to make it as foreshadowing as possible. Was my humor ok? Anyway thanks for reading. Please vote on the poll on my profile; it'll influence a later chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7: Kinloch Hold

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter 7: Kinloch Hold

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's note: Sorry about the delay and the length of this chapter, but hopefully the next one will make up for that! Remember to vote on my poll! It WILL influence a later chapter which is coming sometime in the next few chapters. I refuse to do the whole mouse thing with Hawke's harrowing, and I'm not sure you'll all like what my back-up plan for her harrowing is.**

* * *

They reached the circle in, according to Anders, record time.

The tower was imposing, thick heavy doors that required ten men to open properly kept the mages contained. Another set of doors guarded the entrance to the circle proper.

The Templar in charge of their group spoke to another.

"That's the Knight-Commander, Greagoir," Anders supplied.

An elderly mage joined the conversing Templars.

"That's First Enchanter Irving."

The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter approached.

"Have Wynne check this one for any injuries after you prepare her phylactery, First Enchanter, then lock both of them in solitary confinement. Three months." The Knight-Commander walked away.

Hawke was led off by the First Enchanter while Anders was dragged in another direction.

The room Hawke was led to, unlike other rooms in the tower, had a door. An elderly mage sat reading a book in one corner, a row of empty vials stood menacingly on a table.

When Irving approached her with a dagger and one of the vials, she realised with a jolt what a phylactery was.

_Blood_, so they could hunt her if she escaped.

Ironically, it was a form of blood magic. The Templars used _Blood Magic _to hunt suspected _Blood Mages._

_Now __**that's**__ rich,_ thought Hawke.

She felt the chill of the metal against her skin and then burning pain.

"Wynne?" Irving addressed the woman sitting in the corner.

She smiled kindly and stood, approaching Hawke.

Wynne gently placed a hand over the gash in Hawke's arm. The skin flowed over the cut and the flesh knitted itself back together.

"Let's get you a bath and some fresh clothes shall we?"

Hawke protested; she wanted to keep the robes the Dalish had given her. Wynne relented on the condition that she could clean and mend the robes while Hawke was in confinement, to be returned to her once she was allowed to join the other apprentices.

Hawke nodded gruffly. Despite the woman's kindness, she didn't want to become attached to anyone. Having done some thinking on the way to Kinloch Hold, Hawke had decided that it was better that way. She didn't plan on staying long.

As promised Hawke got a bath and new clothes to wear for the time being. Hawke was glad to see simple breeches and a shirt; if she ever saw a dress again, it would be too soon.

"You're going to have to spend some time in quarantine," Wynne stated somewhat sadly, "It's because you were outside Chantry control. The Templars don't take chances."

"But first we need to write down your details," The First Enchanter walked in, followed by the Knight-Commander

"Name?" The Knight-Commander asked.

Irving held a quill poised to write in her file.

"…Hawke…"

"_First _name, Mage!" Greagoir spat.

"…M-Marian…" Hawke quailed under his glare.

"Marian…_Hawke_…" Irving exchanged a look with Wynne.

"Age?"

The questions went on and on. When they finished two Templars grabbed Hawke's forearms and began leading her to the dungeons, not caring that she could barely keep up with their long, quick strides.

* * *

"She'll 'ave to share. We've got no empty cells." The Templar jailer unlocked a cell door.

Hawke was shoved inside. She heard the door slam shut, and the jangle of the keys in the lock before her eyes adjusted fully to the gloom. She spotted her cell mate.

"I have to share a cell…with _you_, for _three whole months!_" Hawke screeched, "I'm a GIRL for Andraste's sake! What do they think they're playing at?!"

"Hello again, sweetheart," Anders cheerfully greeted her, "Maybe with the prospect of some scintillating conversation, I won't start talking to myself this time."


	8. Chapter 8: What They've Done

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter 8: What They've Done

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's note: Hawke and Anders will discuss the Templar's abuses in this chapter. Not in too much detail, but it's there. VOTE ON THE POLL! Seriously, please vote!**

* * *

"Give it up, sweetheart; it's not going to work. Believe me, I've tried," Anders lounged on his cot, arms crossed behind his head.

Hawke ignored him. She shook the bars of the cell door, screeching at the Templars to let her out.

After hours of being stuck in the cell, she could swear she wanted to start talking to herself.

Frustrated by the lack of a response, she turned and punched the wall without thinking, bloodying her knuckles.

She stepped back, cradling her injured hand.

Anders stood, stretching out his stiff limbs, then approached Hawke with the air of someone trying to calm a wounded animal. He stopped a few feet away and held out a hand.

"Here, let me see," His voice was quiet and gentle.

"The Templars warded the cell against-"

"Shush," Anders examined her hand, "I can get some disinfectant for it later, but I should bandage it for you now. You're lucky that it doesn't require stitches."

Anders tore a long, thin strip of cloth from his blanket and gently bound Hawke's knuckles with it.

Anders resumed his lounging. Hawke sat across from him on her own cot.

"How did you learn how to deal with injuries without magic?"

"Oh, you know, I ran off, got myself injured and then the Templars caught me and then BAM! No magic!"

"You're joking."

"Yes I am, dear lady! How'd you tell?"

"Your face goes completely expressionless."

"Darn! And there I was trying to look serious!"

They sat in silence for several minutes. Somewhere a bell tolled.

The clop-clang of heavy steel boots striking stone reached them. The sound rose and fell, multiplied and distorted by the echo in the dungeons.

A Templar approached their cell, a tray laden with food and a pitcher of water balanced in his hands.

"Hey, Cullen, my friend here hurt herself a while ago and no one noticed, could you get a message to Karl or Jowan for me?" Anders reached through a gap in the bars of the cell and relieved the Templar of his burden.

Hawke held her hand up somewhat sheepishly.

The Templar blushed at her and muttered something to Anders. Anders nodded and sat beside Hawke, placing the tray of food between them.

"He thinks you're cute, be careful, be very,_ very_ careful Hawke," Anders voice was low and urgent. "I've never met a Templar who was nice to a mage they liked the look of. _Ever._"

"I'll bear that in mind."

"Do," Anders turned his attention to the food, tearing a loaf of bread in half and handing a piece to Hawke, weighing a piece of fruit in one hand before biting into it.

Hawke also busied herself with the food, trying to avoid thinking about the implications of what Anders had just told her.

"…It's frightening," Hawke whispered.

"It is _allowed_ to happen. The Chantry doesn't care about mages at all. It goes against no woed of the maker for mages to live as free as other people. It is true that Andraste said that "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him", but I've never met a mage who wanted to rule anything!" Anders spoke with vehemence.

"Forcing mages into servitude is not the way to prevent the rise of another Imperium."

"That's…not usually the response I get. Perhaps we will get along better than I thought."

Hawke silently agreed.

* * *

Hawke woke with a start. She immediately stuffed her fingers into her ears.

Anders was locked in the throes of a nightmare. Blood curdling screams erupted out of him.

He thrashed, falling off of his cot. He struck the ground with a heavy thud.

"Anders! Wake up!" Hawke got up and knelt beside Anders, gripping his arms so he wouldn't hurt himself, "ANDERS!"

Anders' eyes shot open, pupils dilated with fear. His breathing slowed when he realised he was awake, safe from the demons. Hawke let go of his arms.

Hawke started when she saw Anders was sobbing silently. Unsure of what to do, she settled for gently wiping the wet trails from his face and hugging him.

"A word of advice, sweetheart," Anders voice was rough and bitter. "Don't become attached to anything in the circle. Mages can never love anything, because if they do, the Templars will rip that away from them." Anders pushed Hawke away and went back to his cot.

"For mages, love and friendship are just games. Just games." Anders lay down facing the wall.

"Who did they take from you?"

"What they've taken from every mage in Thedas; my parents, siblings I can't even remember, aunts, uncles…"

"Your family."

"And they'd take a lot more if they could."

Due to the Templars wards, Hawke couldn't contact Justice in her sleep, she hadn't been able to on the journey to Kinloch hold either. He'd freak out when he found out she was in the circle, if he wasn't already worried by her absence. She wondered what he'd make of Anders. For some reason the two didn't sit well together in her thoughts and she had a strange sense of foreboding.


	9. Chapter 9: Life in the Circle

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter 9: Life in the Circle

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's note: Thanks for reading. Last day for the poll!**

* * *

Hawke was glad when the three months of quarantine were over and she was moved to the apprentice dormitory, if only because Anders gave up his unspoken vow of silence.

"Andraste's knickerweasels, I was starting to go mad in there!"

"Mmm..."

"You still have to teach me how to turn into a cat! Don't think you can get out of it by ignoring me!"

"Mmm…"

"You know, I ate a Templar's brain the other day, tasted like chicken!"

"Mmm…"

"Thedas to Hawke!"

"…Huh? Oh, you're talking to me now, are you?"

Both of their voices were hoarse from disuse. About two weeks before their day of release, having exhausted all possible topics of conversation, Anders had taken his silent vow of silence, and neither of them had talked since then.

"We'd have to _have_ a cat first, you have to study it for hours until you can shapeshift into it, and besides, I don't think that that's the kind of magic they allow here. Since when did you get hold of a Templar brain anyway? I think you _have_ gone mad."

"Hey! That was a joke! You were ignoring me!" Anders pouted, "The tower has a mouser, I call him Mr. Wiggums. Will that do?"

"Show me the cat, then," Hawke relented with a sigh.

"This way!" Anders strode purposefully down the corridor, "We just have to _find_ him. That cat is always wandering about. He has a habit of going to people he knows will feed him. It's a wonder that he's _able_ to catch anything."

Hawke smiled faintly, bemused.

* * *

They found the cat being petted and fed by a small knot of six year olds.

"Excuse me, I need the cat," Anders picked up Mr. Wiggums.

The air became filled with the protesting clamour of squeaky six year old voices.

"Give Fluffy back!"

"You will make Meowser sad!"

"Fluffy? Meowser? I thought the cat was called Mr. Wiggums!"

"That's what _I_ call him. There's only one cat and he doesn't have an official name, so just call him whatever so long as you can tell it's a cat name."

"Uh…_right_," Hawke wished she hadn't agreed to this.

_Why did I agree to this again? Oh, that's right I didn't, Anders here just wouldn't take __**no**__ for an answer._

* * *

"I know this cat like the back of my hand! What do I need to do now?"

"You don't need to _know_ the cat, you need to know _how_ a cat works, how it behaves, how it reacts…" Hawke sat cross-legged on an empty table in the corner of the circle library, eyes firmly shut. _I am in my happy place…in my happy place…inner peace, Hawke…just relax…_

Anders shifted where he stood, staring at Mr. Wiggums as he went about his cat business…or whatever he was doing. Anders yawned. Hawke's eyelid twitched. Anders yawned louder.

_Ok…inner peace not happening anytime soon…_

"What is it, Anders?" Hawke sighed.

"I've been watching the cat for _six hours!_" Anders slumped forward, "All you've done is sit there! How can you stand it? It's _so_ boring!"

"What have you observed?"

"I could stare at that fluffball all day and not learn anything about how he "works"! He is so lazy!"

"You've made progress and discovered our problem. I'm astounded." Hawke spoke with affected astonishment. She opened her eyes, stood, and pointed at the cat.

"This cat doesn't behave like a normal cat, which is why it hasn't worked! He's much too lazy! He has gorged himself into oblivion!"

"Uh…come again?"

"Look at that cat's belly!"

Mr. Wiggums rolled over, hoping to be petted. His stomach bulged, proof positive of being overfed.

"Sheesh…don't blame Mr. Wiggums. It's not his fault he's been fed so much is it?" Anders petted the cat fondly.

"Tell you what, Hawke, since you gave me six hours of a shapeshifting lesson, I'll give you six hours o a spirit healing lesson!"

"No thanks, I'm already a spirit healer…"

"No buts!"

Hawke sighed. Another mage ran over.

"Hey, Anders, I need some help! I c-can't remember how to-"

"An enthropy spell? You _know_ I'm no good with them, Jowan. Go ask someone else; I'm busy."

Hawke seized the opportunity with both hands.

"I have a knack for that school of magic. I'll help."

"Oh, thank the Maker! I have an exam tomorrow and-"

"Oh, no you don't! You're not stealing _my_ apprentice!"

"Huh?"

"I'm a _harrowed_ mage."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Hawke questioned.

"…drat!" Jowan whimpered, "It means that if you haven't got a teacher yet…he can teach you. And that means _he_ gets to choose when you have class, where you have class and who you're classmates are."

"He also needs to be taught _how_ to teach first."

"Senior Enchanter Wynne?" Anders turned to face the elderly woman.

"I'm a spirit healer also, which means I get to teach you how to teach!" Wynne grinned mischievously, winking at Hawke and Jowan.

"She doesn't seem so grandmotherly now, does she?" Jowan whispered to Hawke.

"I agree."

"Uh…let's run. I don't like it when she gets that face."Anders muttered, barely moving his mouth.

"Agreed!" Hawke and Jowan replied.

Hawke opened her eyes in the Fade.

"Hawke, what happened? You disappeared for three months!" Justice hurried over.

Hawke felt dizzy; returning to the Fade after being cut off from it for so long was a strange sensation, to put it lightly.

"Templars, circle, quarantine."

Hawke staggered. Justice ran forward to catch her. Once she had recovered somewhat Hawke explained the full story to Justice.

"Marethari shouldn't have left you to fend for yourself."

"She had to put the clan first. I understand her reasons for doing so, even if I cannot forgive her for abandoning me."

"Are you sure you're not a spirit of Compassion, Hawke?" Justice half joked, half hoped.

Hawke laughed, something she hadn't done in a long time.

* * *

**Author's note: Ah, poor Justice. Next chapter: time skip and Hawke's harrowing. I haven't got it written yet, but I'll start either sometime today or tomorrow. The poll is open until sometime tonight, last chance to decide what Hawke will face in the Fade! The poll is embedded in my profile, it should be easy to find.**


	10. Chapter 10: Bound in Blood and Lyrium

Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning

Chapter 10: Bound in Blood and Lyrium

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's note: Sorry, A fix for the line break problem I'm having has been suggested to me and I will try it out now.**

* * *

Two years later:

Ostagar:

The young mage girl watched in horror as Daveth's life fled before her eyes and Ser Jory was cut down by Duncan just for wanting to go home to his wife and child.

_Join us brothers and sisters…_

Duncan approached her with the cup of Darkspawn blood.

_…join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant…_

She could see the Darkspawn blood glistening as she took the chalice from him.

_…join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn…_

The foul liquid burned as it made its way down her throat.

_…and should you perish…_

She didn't want to die! Of course not! The pain…the pain was excruciating.

_…know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten…_

Her eyes turned milky white, no pupil, no iris at all as the taint took hold.

_…and that one day…_

She fell. Alistair moved to catch her and lowered her gently to the ground.

_…we shall join you._

"From this moment forth, Bethany, you are a Grey Warden."

She would live.

* * *

Several hours earlier:

Kinloch hold:

Someone shook Hawke's shoulder. She pulled her pillow over her head.

"Go 'way." This had to be one of three people: Anders, Karl or Jowan.

Most probably Anders, returned from his quarantine after his latest escape, wanting to tell her about the outside world while there were no Templar ears around.

Her shoulder was shook again.

He was darn persistent.

Wasn't it bad enough that she'd been kept up by Jowan's ridiculous conspiracy theories? Jowan was always muttering or taking down notes from some obscure book in an out of the way corner. He was a walking, talking conspiracy theory.

Whoever it was shook her again. She felt the chill of an armoured gauntlet through the thin material of her shirt.

Cautiously, Hawke crept one hand towards the dagger she kept hidden under her blankets and gripped the handle.

She peeked her head out from under her pillow. It was the Templar, Cullen, and he was looking particularly nervous.

"Um… I-I've… uh… I've b-been sent t-to bring y-you to your ha-harrowing…"

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief and let go of the dagger.

Cullen had the decency to turn around while she changed into her mage robes. She cleared her throat when she was finished and motioned for him to lead the way.

* * *

The First Enchanter, Knight-Commander and a whole host of other Templars waited for them in the Harrowing Chamber.

Her drowsiness prevented her from panicking when Irving explained to her that she would be sent into the Fade to face a demon, and when the Knight-Commander informed her that if she failed, she would die.

When she touched the _lyrium_ however she was wide awake. Lyrium wasn't addictive to mages, like it was to Templars; it instead resonated with the mana in her blood, in every cell of her body.

Hawke felt as if she could do anything.

* * *

Marian opened her eyes; she was in Hightown, her parents' estate. She was warm and comfortable, why shouldn't she be?

Yet something was _off._

"Sister wake up! Come on sleepyhead!"

_Bethany…?_

Marian turned her head and saw her sister standing beside her bed, brown eyes bright and full of laughter.

Marian let herself be led out into the hallway.

A shield with the Kirkwall city crest was mounted on the wall. It always reminded her of a dragon or a bird; it looked like it had wings.

_Wings…feathers…_

_Birds…hawks…_

"Come on sister! Stop it! Stop looking at that! Stop thinking! Don't you want to be happy? We're happy! All you have to do is give in!"

"You're not…you're not my sister!"

"Marian-"

"I am not Marian! I am Hawke! Begone, demon!"

**"If this is how you want to play it…"** The voice was deeper, menacing.

* * *

Justice scrambled up the steep incline in the Fade. Hawke was there, in the valley on the opposite side.

He saw what the demon was tormenting her with: a dead facsimile of Bethany, her sister.

Justice _refused_ to let her break. He could feel the link she had with her sister. He followed it with his consciousness.

* * *

Hawke felt like she'd been torn in half.

_The witch lied to you…she didn't save Bethany…_

"Shut up! You're not worthy to say her name!"

_…I could give you **power**…_

_…power enough to defeat the witch…make her **pay**..._

"Shut up!" Hawke sobbed.

_…poor…**sweet**…**kind** Bethany…so young…_

"…go away…"

_That's it…yes…the witch deserves death…by your hands…_ The whisper was insidious and tempting.

"No! I won't…I won't give in!"

"That's the Marian I know."

Hawke looked up, her teary face frozen with shock.

"Garrett…Carver…Bethany…what are you all doing here?"

"Even the best of us need support."

"_That's_ what we're here for."

"Marian, I'm ok, I'm safe."

"She joined the Grey Wardens. There was one present when she first used magic, and he conscripted her." Hawke could hear the pride and envy in Carver's voice.

"You've come too far to give up now!" Bethany implored.

"I couldn't have put it better myself," Carver put his arm around his twin's shoulder.

Garrett extended an arm to Hawke. They grasped each other's forearms.

"Remember; everyone is rooting for you, sis."

**"How touching!"** The demon appeared behind them.

_"I'm not afraid of your little games anymore, pride!"_

**"Hmph."**

Hawke and Bethany readied themselves to use magic, summoning staves from the Fade.

Garrett produced a wicked looking set of daggers from nowhere and Carver pulled a massive greatsword out of the ground where it materialized, hilt deep. Justice appeared beside Hawke, calmly shifting his shield from his back to his arm and settling the weight of his mace in his other hand.

"Thanks for the help." Justice nodded, eyes focused on the pride demon.

"Now!"

The two mages fired blasts of pure spirit energy from their staves. Justice found himself running beside Garrett.

"So…just what is your relationship with my sister?"

Justice glared at him.

"Joke…joke."

Justice ran ahead, Carver was drawing almost all of the demons attention. Justice came to a halt and turned, holding his shield at an angle, allowing Garrett to use it as a springboard. The demon roared when the daggers began sinking into its back, again and again. Garrett jumped off, landing nimbly on his feet. Justice and Carver attacked the demons kneecaps, running clear when it fell to its knees.

Hawke and Bethany combined their mana to launch a massive fireball, finishing the demon off.

At that point the harrowing ritual brought Hawke back to her body and her siblings woke up, leaving Justice on his own in the Fade.

* * *

Hawke opened her eyes; she was back in her bunk in the apprentice dorms.

Karl, one of the mages Anders had introduced her to two years ago, sat on the bed directly across from her, arms folded, grinning from ear to ear. He stood and walked over.

"Congrats on your harrowing!"

"Ugh…not so loud."

"And not a feather out of place!"

"Must you tease me about the pauldrons?"

"You're no fun this early. I can't wait 'till Anders gets out of the dungeons and you've woken up properly."

"He's getting out today?"Hawke asked, lacing up her boots.

"Sometime this afternoon, I think. You should go talk to Irving; he wanted to see you when you woke up. Jowan wants to talk to you after. Is it just me or has he been on edge lately?"

"He's been suspicious, that's for sure."

* * *

**Author's note: Thanks to Pintsizedpsycho for the successful line break solution! Required a bit of fiddling, but worth it.**


	11. Chapter 11: Repercussions

**Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning**

**Chapter Eleven: Repercussions**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's note: Sorry about the late update, I had writers block with this chapter. I saw the new trailer for Inquisition, it looks Epic! Can't wait 'till the 7****th**** October! Oh, I should warn you I hint at Hawke being whipped by the Templars for helping Jowan, though I don't actually say it, it is fairly obvious. There's another poll on my profile, this time about pairings.**

* * *

Hawke stared in horror as Jowan brought the knife down.

He was a blood mage.

Even Lily, the woman he did all of this for, shunned him.

"I don't know who you are, Blood Mage! Stay away from me!"

Hawke could only blink in shock, mouth attempting to form words that simply would not come. It didn't surprise her when he ran.

She vaguely heard Irving and Greagoir arguing.

"She did not know he was a Blood Mage!"

When Irving's pleas for leniency fell on deaf ears he changed tack; "Kill her and you martyr her. Give a lesser punishment and you may garner support."

"She's harrowed. We can't make her Tranquil."

"That is a worse fate than death and you know it!"

"You do realise what this means, don't you Irving?"

"I do. Maker preserve her."

* * *

Anders was quite happy with himself. His year of solitary confinement was up and another, better escape plan was forming in his head. _This _time he'd make it. _This_ time he'd stay free.

Karl ran into him just as he rounded the corner.

"What's the rush?"

"Anders! Thank the Maker I found you! It's Hawke, you have to come quickly!"

"What? What happened to her?"

"There's no time! She needs healing. Now!"

Anders felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

* * *

He rushed over to Hawke's unconscious form. She was wearing her normal clothes rather than her mage robes. The back of her shirt had been cut away, revealing dozens of deep lash wounds that steadily oozed blood.

Senior Enchanter Leorah was frantically chain casting the basic healing spell that all circle mages were taught, trying to halt the bleeding.

"**Move." **Anders took her place beside Hawke and called upon the strongest spirit he knew. "Why wasn't Wynne here to heal her? Why wasn't I sent for earlier?" Anders snapped.

"Wynne was sent to Ostagar a week ago and the…the…" Senior Enchanter Leorah sobbed, "The Templars wouldn't send for you because they thought you would have tried to stop them."

Anders decided to ignore the fact that they would have been right.

_That_ was strange. Something else was helping him repair the damage to Hawke's back. It felt like her mana, but on closer inspection it wasn't. Another spirit. Hawke had made some useful friends. It was probably the spirit she normally called upon for her spirit healing.

* * *

Anders had run himself ragged, and still Hawke was left with scars that no amount of healing magic could ever make fade.

He rested the tips of his fingers on one of the scars and leaned in to whisper:

"The Templars won't get away with this, Hawke."

Her eyes fluttered open.

* * *

Hawke looked at her mage gear, spread out on her bed.

It didn't seem right to cover the scars, like it had never happened.

She sat down and pulled the robes that the Dalish had given her what seemed like an age ago across her lap and got to work with a scissors needle and thread.

Anders saw what she was doing and offered suggestions, got her lyrium weave.

When Hawke was finished, the robes had become a rallying cry for the mages and an accusation aimed at the Templars.

Part of the tunic had been cut away, exposing most of the scars on her back. About three inches of the bottom of the seams at the sides that joined the front and back of the tunic had been cut and the image of a hawk sewn onto one of the corners at the front.

A leather strap now ran diagonally across her chest under her pauldrons to carry her staff using a loop at the back. A blue lyrium weave version of the Chantry symbol decorated the loop, giving off a slight glow.

A length of cloth bearing the symbol of the Kirkwall slave revolt hung from the leather strap where it rose to cross her left shoulder. A symbol of freedom.

* * *

Anders opened the door of the mess hall. They were late. Hawke had wanted to avoid the rush and Anders had insisted on walking with her to make sure no Templars harassed her.

The clattering that filled the room died down as Hawke entered. The news of Jowan's escape and Hawke's punishment had spread fast.

Anders felt a single bead of sweat run down his forehead._ How would the Templars react?_

They made it past the first set of tables without incident. Then the chanting started. A single word: Hawke.

Each repetition of the word was met with the mages hitting cutlery, mugs, whatever was at hand off the tables. A few slammed the end of their staves into the ground. Even a few Templars joined in.

_Hawke…Hawke…Hawke…Hawke…_

"Silence!" The Knight-Commander barked.

He was ignored.

Hawke found a free space beside Karl and sat down. Anders claimed the spot on her other side. The chanting continued, some of the mages nearby reaching toward Hawke, to pat her shoulder, shake her hand. The chanting grew in volume.

"SILENCE!" This time Greagoir stood and roared, his face a deep red.

The chanting stopped. Food was served.

Karl gave Hawke's shoulder a brief squeeze before he turned to his food.

Anders grasped her hand for a split second.

Hawke looked down at the note in he had left there.

_I'm planning another escape, and you're coming with me this time._

Feeling Anders' gaze on her, Hawke nodded.


	12. Chapter 12: Luck is Fickle

**Freedom Among Slaves: A Mage's beginning**

**Chapter twelve: Luck is Fickle **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, Bioware or EA.**

**Author's note: This chapter is mostly about Ostagar, though I tried to avoid unnecessarily repeating the games plot. There is a bit about Aveline, and at the end Anders and Hawke come up. **

**This is an important milestone for this story, because I finished the first notebook I was using to write it! I do have another though, and as promised in the summary, this story will continue until the start of Awakening. **

**I would appreciate if people could vote on the pairings poll on my profile. Seriously, the future chapters of this story could change depending on what people vote! VOTE! Anyway…here's the chapter.**

* * *

"Let's get to the Tower of Ishal and light the beacon, Duncan is counting on us!" Alistair had to shout to be heard over the sound of the battle below.

Bethany nodded. Her feet were spread wide in an attempt to maintain balance on a bridge being shaken by rocks hurled from catapults and Darkspawn Emissary spells. A soldier ran past her to take a fallen comrade's place manning one of the ballistae.

Alistair grabbed Bethany's hand and pulled her along as he ran, carefully skirting the craters left by boulders and grasped the lower half of her robes and hitched them up so she wouldn't trip.

_Mages are not built for running._

They reached the other side of the ridge and, taking one look at Bethany, Alistair said they could walk the rest of the way.

Bethany started when Alistair drew his sword.

_Oh, of course, he can sense the Darkspawn._

Bethany relaxed when she realised that the ex-Templar wasn't about to turn his weapon on her.

Well…she wasn't much of a threat anyway. Most of Bethany's spells were just pure blind instinct.

The day she'd shown magical talent had been the day she'd been recruited into the Wardens. It had only been a few weeks ago.

She'd probably been sent to the tower of Ishal to keep her out of a battle she wouldn't be able to survive.

And Duncan had said she had potential.

* * *

Aveline had lost her shield, so she resorted to using her one-handed sword with both hands. The pommel and crossguard dug into her fingers, but that was the least of her worries.

The small force of soldiers, Grey Wardens and Mages was being overwhelmed. They'd been fighting for what seemed like an Age.

Aveline glanced up. The signal still wasn't lit. The Darkspawn had committed to their attack. The troops needed Loghain's forces now or they'd be annihilated.

_Why couldn't the Grand Cleric have swallowed her pride and let the mages create a fireball in the sky or something? Just why?_

Aveline clamped down on the thoughts before they could take root.

She glanced up again. To her relief she saw the light at the top of the Tower of Ishal.

She kicked a Hurlock back with newfound strength, running it through with her sword when it fell over a Genlock.

_We might actually win this- oh, no._

To her horror Loghain's forces quit the field. She could see them in the brief flashes of light from spells the mages were casting.

_He just left us to die! And his men obeyed? That traitorous, backstabbing-_

Aveline was jolted out of her mental rant by ungodly screaming to her right.

An Ogre threw a broken mass of flesh to the side. It landed near her and she saw a glint of gold plated armor. King Caillan.

The Grey Warden, Duncan she thought his name was, brought down the Ogre, but one lok at him and she knew he could not be saved. His torso was covered in blood, and more was being coughed up by him. His lungs were probably punctured by a rib.

They were losing.

Aveline made the only rational decision in her circumstances.

"Fall back!"

* * *

Alistair turned toward the stairs, drawing his sword. He settled the weight of his shield on his other arm, taking a defensive stance in front of Bethany.

Darkspawn had followed them up the tower, just far back enough that Alistair hadn't been able to sense them.

_Archers._

If he moved they'd kill Bethany for sure, but if he didn't…

Alistair swallowed.

Arrows and crossbow bolts found their way through the chinks in Alistair's splintmail.

Alistair staggered, then fell.

His eyes remained open however.

He saw the Darkspawn get burned to a crisp by one of Bethany's spells.

She knelt beside him and he could vaguely hear her yelling at him not to die on her.

Alistair's glazed over eyes widened fractionally in horror as a Genlock snuck out from its hiding place near the stairs. It took careful aim with its crossbow.

He couldn't move or speak to warn her.

Alistair saw the head of the bolt protruding from her torso, felt the bloodspray, heard the roars of a dragon- a _dragon?_

Alistair's luck couldn't get any worse.

* * *

Anders looked at Hawke. They'd been let out with some of the other mages to walk around the Circle tower.

It would have been a kindness if it hadn't been for the storm.

"We'd have to be crazy to swim across Lake Calenhad in _this_." She whispered, mindful of the Templars watching them.

"I've done it before. Just stick close to me." Anders replied under his breath.

Hawke smiled at him.

"Good thing neither of us is completely sane."

"That's the beauty of this plan; _they won't expect it._ They didn't even realise it was a bona fide escape attempt the first time I tried."


End file.
